Fimus
by lunaloverunicorn
Summary: Draco Malfoy knew it was wrong. Hermione Granger knew it was wrong. When fate finds them near a dirty corridor, will they give into their forbidden and questionable love? And what of these rumors that they are brother and sister?
1. Chapter 1

_(AN: I wrote this story for a dear friend of mine, not knowing it would spark the most unspeakable latent desires within myself. Thank-you, dearest friend. Thank-you. BTW, I drew a picture of Hermione and Draco at the peak of their passion so if you want it, just message me. Luvs!)_

**FIMUS.**

Draco Malfoy knew it was wrong. O so wrong. From the first time he saw Hermione Granger, hair spaced out, eyes reading sexily, he was drawn to her forbidden status.

"Father wouldn't approve," Draco muttered, adolescent blood boiling with wanting like onions in butter that want to be pureed but properly cooked to avoid food poisoning or unpleasant crunchiness.

Draco didn't like food poisoning. But he liked wanting things. And he wanted Hermione.

Hermione walked into the Great Hall, hair wet from a shower and wearing a clean white blouse that indicated proper hygiene. Her robes were dark, lint-free, and smelled of Tide, enticing Draco with the idea that cat ownership didn't have to be super gross.

Draco turned away, frustrated, and tried to soothe his engorged nerves by talking to his Slytherin friends about snobbish things, "Ah yes, this tea is grown in the golden hills of Wizard Land and you can rather taste the special anti-muggle magical qualities embedded in the leaves."

"Quite right, Draco. It shall be _tasted _magically."

Tasted?

"Do I detect a hint of _tightness _in the raspberry _infusion _of _liquids_?"

Tight... Liquids...

"Yes, it compliments the _wetness _of the _warm _water quite nicely..."

Wet...

"It's a good thing we're _evil _because it is positively a _sin _to enjoy a tea as fine as this..."

Evil...

Sin...

"We're going to be late for class. _Come_, Draco."

Come.

Come.

Frizzed hair. Wet. Warm. Infused with the tightness of raspberry shampoo. Sexy shampoo. And it was _coming _his way right now. Like something that is sexy and drawing him, playing on his over-stimulated nerves engorged with probable desire.

"Malfoy?"

"GROSS. WHAT?"

"You're in my way."

"Your face is in my way."

"You're such a racist."

"You're such a mudblood."

"And you're such an asshole. A firm, clean and well educated... asshole... that talks of other matters besides Quidditch, pranks, and certain death of friends and family members should your kind win..."

"And your knowledge sparkles like a film of thin moisture on the questionable morality I've always known and continue to question in secret. Forbiddenly secret..."

"Gryffindor."

"Slytherin."

"I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"You think I'm beneath you."

"Do you want to be beneath me?"

"Yes."

Serendipitously positioned by a slightly dusty corridor, the two pallid faces collided with the passion only expressed by the crescendo of Pocahontus's _Colors of the Wind _as the fantastical female protagonist educates with a musically intense depth, "_How high does the sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know..._"

And they would know. They let the desire grow and grow and grow as hands fondled off belts, struggled with silken ties, and ripped off fresh, clean, crisp clothes moistened - soiled, even - by Hermione's warm, wet, infused hair thrown into messy disarray by Draco's oral expressions of frantic tumescence.

"But Malfoy, Malfoy, it's so dirty here. Look at the dirt."

"It's so dirty. Like your blood."

"It's so dirty. Like your morality."

"We should stay here. We'll be covered in literal dirt."

"We'll be dirty outside. And inside."

"We're creating more dirty work for the elves with our dirty fluids. They'll have to clean our combined dirt."

"They might catch onto our dirty secret with all this combined dirt."

"Let's go to class without properly washing and keep our combined dirt."

"Let's go without washing for twenty hours and stew in our combined dirt."

Hermione cried out in shared desire and horror at the thought of combined dirt, "DO ME, DRACO. DO ME IN THIS DIRT."

Draco bit hard on his lip, tasting his own dirty blood – the blood of a dirty blood traitor.

"CALL ME 'DIRTY DRACO.'"

"DIRTY DRACO. OH, SO DIRTY."

And then they had some sex.


	2. Chapter 2

_(AN: Omg, Claire, ok, just because you have a crush on your step-brother doesn't mean I'm calling you out on it with this story. And he's not even your step-brother, he's your actual brother, he's just 20 years older than you and grew up in a different state. And stop texting me about this.)_

_(AN: Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed this story! :))_

**FIMUS II**

"Thanks, Malfoy, that was nice."

"Call me Draco."

"Eh, maybe later. Kind of tired right now." Hermione, coated in a sticky layer of combined dirt, pulled her newly dampened hair into a tangled knot that had been passionately soiled by the secrecy of their forbidden union. They were like serif and sans serif fonts combined recklessly together. It was wrong but the underlying bursts of longing that had briefly exploded into the physical realization of Aladdin's _A Whole New World_, "_Don't you dare close your eyes…_" ebbed away as the on-screen carpet paddled its way out of view in Hermione's mind's eye.

Hermione didn't close her eyes. And Hermione had been satiated.

For now.

However, Draco was stung. Still drenched in the wet fluids pouring from Hermione's feminine centre, its sweetness radiating with the summer freshness of pineapple and woman, he wanted to penetrate Hermione like The Little Mermaid's ship had penetrated Ursula in her electrified midsection.

Draco wanted to electrify Hermione. Like a giant, evil anthropomorphized octopus. A giant, evil, _wet_ anthropomorphized octopus.

"…. Seafood."

"Gross. What?"

"Sea… food…."

Hermione suddenly knew what he meant. Her feminine center re-released a fresh batch of pineapple, womanly juices to lubricate her deliciously aching pleasure parts (because Draco was such a man) but she quickly suppressed these feelings in lieu of making a mental note to wear pantie-liners from now on. She had always been too dry before to wear the padding. Hermione was afraid she had a urinary tract infection but her Dirty Draco-induced fluids seemed to have cured her.

"I'm allergic."

"Like I'm allergic to mudbloods?"

"The deep, throbbing kind of allergic. Where your marble white throat and warm wet tongue become engorged with fluids, throbbing, throbbing, cutting off air until that sudden rush of relief and satisfaction after a smooth, sleek hypodermic needle pumps his own fluid into you to release your trapped juices…."

And they were on each other like two ripe berries being crushed together to make jam! Delicious, wet, sticky jam that got all over the dirty, dirty floor.

"GET OFF YOUR SISTER, MALFOY!"

"RON!"

"WEASLEY!"

"Sister?"

"NO!"

Draco's face dawned with the realization of an enlightened fawn, "That means… If you're my sister, you're not a mudblood. You're not a filthy, dirty little mudblood. And we haven't been having filthy, dirty forbidden sex..."

Ron cried out, "But you have, Malfoy! Look at this dirty, dirty corridor filthy with your dirty, forbidden sex!"

Hermione fell to her knees in a salacious fall, "This is 87% less hot than it was eighteen seconds ago. Ron! How could you suddenly inform my pureblood lover that he is having secret, sensual sex with his unfortunately equally pure-blooded sister! His …. sister…"

"My sister."

"My brother."

"My soft lipped, beautifully blood-ed sister, with the body of a person that I love to have sex with."

"With the body of a person I am related to."

"You are so much hotter to me now."

"Hermione!" Ron cried, "What about us? What about how we aren't related? What about our clean, wholesome talks? Of our tidiness? Of our fresh flesh?"

"I want blood flesh, Ron, and you are not of my blood."

Hermione's face again crashed into her brother's, waves of genetically shared fluids transferring in between taboo kisses like well-timed connections on a bus line.

"Father would not approve," Draco breathed into his sister's mouth, his exhalation like a gust of air from a warm heating grate at a downtown above-ground train station during the frigid months of winter to prevent frostbite at temperatures reaching -30C.

"_Our _father would not approve."

And then they had some sex.

The end.


End file.
